


Resting Under the Willow Trees

by Haikyuuvlb



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark, Death, Murder, Serial Killer, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 05:50:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16826428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haikyuuvlb/pseuds/Haikyuuvlb
Summary: A calm and peaceful day is interrupted by the harsh reality of the meadow that is hidden within the shadow of the willow tree.





	Resting Under the Willow Trees

The wind blows softly through the tall trees that surround the quiet meadow. Birds chirp peacefully as they sit patiently on their eggs dutifully waiting for their chicks to hatch. A pleasant humming sounds as the bees flit amongst the flowers prompting each to grow and provide sweet pollen for the hive. Butterflies dance amongst the Chrysanthemums as the sun rises over the trees. Dewdrops glisten on the silken spider’s web sparkling like diamonds in the early light. Below the earth, the bunnies sleep not yet ready to leave the safety of their hidden home. In the distance, one can hear a creek, the gentle babbling of the brook carrying young tadpoles too their nooks. Branches gently crackle as the deer wander about the edge of the clearing looking for a snack. The quiet of the morning leaves me with the hope for another peaceful day. 

A shapely willow, that resides over the meadow, provides me shade from the soft spring sun. I watch silently as it rises further in the sky giving way to the bright rays of noon. The quiet of the meadow is soon interrupted by hikers as they approach my meadow perhaps seeking the beauty that nature has to offer. I do not speak for it is not my place to interrupt the novelty of youth. They lay out a blanket nearby in a patch of clover providing a barrier from the damp ground. Neither of them seems to notice me laying nearby under my time-worn willow tree. One is quite familiar to me, a face I would not soon forget with his gentle smile and piercing grey eyes that continue to haunt me. That man, Andrei, appears quite young yet his hair holds the distinct markers of white that betray his age. It was something I had never noticed before. The woman is quite young in comparison, she’s still graced by the beauty of youth with her wispy auburn hair and sun-kissed skin speckled with freckles her gentle hazel eyes hidden behind wide-rimmed glasses. She reminds me of myself, as I once was. They sit and laugh with smiles bright enjoying the cool weather the meadow provides. I watch on in sorrow knowing I am powerless to make her leave. Why must I be forced to watch what I once thought was right? What I so desperately wanted to possess. Why must I remain here in the deep? No chance at the life I might have had, simply because I trusted in his love.

They sit together pointing out the shapes in the clouds, to me they always looked like cotton fluffed and ready to pick from the plant. Soon enough he takes out his camera from the bag he had placed nearby. He had told me he was a photographer and the idea of loving an artist was attractive to me. Perhaps that should have been my first sign, given how pristine the camera and bag appeared no sign of use or wear. He takes pictures of the flowers, her smile, and my willow tree. I wonder, is he secretly taking a picture of me? They continue to laugh as he takes her glasses from her face, blinding her from what is to come. The wind whispers quiet truths through the trees, but she does not take the time to listen. Urgently the breeze pulls at the scarf around her elegant neck trying to pull her from the man who sits at her side. It is merely removed and set to the side its warning is ignored. He loves her, that is all she cares to know as he cups her face and kisses her glossy lips. She closes her eyes and smiles against his lips, she is so blind in her trust that she does not notice the hands that gently travel from her face to embrace her slender neck.

At first, a gentle quirk of her brow indicating her confusion, but as the pressure grows I see the silent panic in her eyes. The pain of betrayal sinks into her skin as tears begin to drip down her reddening cheeks. I watch silently as she chokes on screams startling the birds from their nest as she gurgles and kicks to no avail. Her blunt nails attempt to dig into his hands to pull them from her neck, he does not move impervious to the pain as he continues to gently smile down at her. No tears come to my eyes, they have long since dried. Slowly the fight stops, and she is covered in the bright violet blush of a bride losing the innocence that youth provides. I am forced to sit here and watch history repeat, now another lay at his feet. 

He slowly removes his hands once he is sure she is gone and gently caresses the side of her face admiring the new color brought to it by his steady hands. He sighs as he says, “They are far more beautiful when dead.”

Slowly he rises walking a small way away to my willow tree, I watch silently from my hidden home, in sick fascination, as he builds another there on my right. I now see how methodically he digs a hole beside me with the shovel he hid in the tall grass just deep enough to hide the dark secrets of the meadow. The hole is just deep enough to prevent the spring showers from revealing her body, but not deep enough for a proper burial. He places her down in her new bed, a scarlet necklace stains her neck giving color to her pale face and dull eyes. Calmly he folds her hands together and shuts her eyes taking a single moment to caress her motionless face. He then goes about finding the loveliest flowers within the meadow and places them about her head in the only veil she’ll ever know. Going back to his bag he pulls out one final flower and tucks a single black rose into her folded hands. He takes one last picture to preserve the memory of her eternal slumber before he covers her with a crumbling, dusty blanket silently bidding her goodnight. He packs his bag and leaves no other trace of himself behind, not affected by guilt or sorrow as he casually hums a tune into the again quiet meadow.

In the soft dirt under the willow tree, with its branches forever weeping at a tragic fate, lay two young girls taken on the same beautiful date. I watched till she was covered at last and could do nothing more than pray she moves on. She need not be forced to watch in silence the effect of time on our quiet meadow. There only needs to be one to stand guard of the darkened mounds amongst the grass with new decay to restart the growth to keep the meadow in full spring. Often beauty hides what is most ugly deep inside. We lay here now in this Potter’s field, forgotten to the sands of time. And as the sky fades to dusk, it occurs to me no one will remember us.

**Author's Note:**

> So this story was written for my creative writing class. If you like this let me know and I'll keep posting these stories as I write them. Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated.


End file.
